Chapter Twenty-Eight

Richmond, England

Aaron Clarke paced the empty parlor of Weir Cottage, an elegant stone structure situated on his father’s estate. It had once been the residence of the estate steward, but as times altered and country estates became less able to support separate families, the cottage had been deserted.

It would now be filled with life again, for Aaron and Maria and the boys were to move there when renovations and fitting up were complete. With Aaron able to devote all his time to the management of the estate, his father’s income had grown considerably, and Aaron’s share had enabled him to undertake the expense of the cottage.

Maria was eager to have her own home, having exhausted her supply of patience in sharing the mansion house with Lady Clarke. Her pregnancy had made her restless and irritable, and among Aaron’s other concerns was a fear she would not care a great deal for the child. Indeed, she cared little for it now, for she rode recklessly about the countryside, heedless of her own and the babe’s safety.

As Aaron was finishing his measurements, the sound of a horse drew him outside. His father rode up, waving a letter.

“Aaron, my boy, I was too impatient to know the contents of this to await your return!” his father called.

Aaron stepped forward and held the horse while his father dismounted. They sat on a bench under a beech tree, and Aaron quickly opened the letter.

Scotland Yard

March 12, 1841

Dear Captain Clarke,

This is to inform you of the state of the investigation into the matter of the human remains found on the property of Mr. Hargrove Godder, the former guardian of your wards’ governess, Miss Hannah Winstead.

You may perhaps have concluded I had forgotten to inform you of events in the case, despite my promise to do so; but investigations take a great deal of time, which the public oftentimes fails to understand, I regret to say.

But I digress. The human remains, as you yourself suspected, were those of Eliza-Jane Dawkins, the former governess to Miss Hannah Winstead. This was not difficult to ascertain. However, without an anonymous message, the origin of which I haven’t yet determined, we might not have formed the intention to investigate in detail Mr. Hargrove Godder. The message, in the form of a brief note, reached us from America, in fact, from the village of Mystic in Connecticut, where you yourself resided but apparently no longer do, as I was advised through a letter from Mr. Seamus Carne.

Suffice it to say the note advised us that “Mr. Hargrove Godder is not who he appears to be, and it’s likely he did harm to Miss Dawkins.” Forthwith, we began a deep and detailed investigation of the man, and the results were fascinating indeed.

Mr. Hargrove Godder is none other than Caleb Worth, a thief who twice escaped custody in Birmingham. After his last evasion, he apparently fled to London and became an actor, first going by the name of Callie Wren and then Harry Peckham. We haven’t yet learned when precisely he became Hargrove Godder, but as Godder, he managed to get his evil hands on assets enough to live very well in Pinley House for several years.

Godder and his wife, an actress born Molly Lender, fled Pinley House a short time after their ward, Miss Winstead, left for America. There is some connection in all of this. It seems likely Miss Winstead was somehow supplying the Godders with funds, although the poor girl was probably not aware of this fact.

Mr. Carne, in his letter to me, did not give me particulars as to where Miss Winstead now resides, but I’m in hope you can enlighten me. I fear she’s in danger from Godder. What his game has been I don’t know, but he’s likely now a murderer as well as a thief, and if he’s in desperate straits, he’ll stop at nothing.

Pray write at your earliest convenience, and give me an address for Miss Winstead.

Your servant, sir,

Morrill Gatwick

Inspector, Scotland Yard

Aaron stopped reading, and he and his father stared at each other.

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Sir Gerald.

“I must find Hannah!” Aaron said, rising hastily as if he would have run off that moment.

“Aaron, wait, don’t fly off. We must consider what’s best to do. Hannah is in America, is she not? Let’s send an express to this Inspector Gatwick. He’ll know the best method of ensuring her safety.”

Aaron paced back and forth, aware of the keen observation of his father.

“I’ll ride to London myself and confer with him. Will you inform Maria when she returns?”

“Of course, but Aaron—”

Aaron could wait no longer; inaction was intolerable. He retrieved his horse, quickly tacked up, and with a wave of farewell to his father, galloped down the lane.